


on a first-name basis

by soldmyscars



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, M/M, mickey being an angst muffin, rain happens too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:23:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1857963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldmyscars/pseuds/soldmyscars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>mickey kind of sucks at the whole dating thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on a first-name basis

**Author's Note:**

> this is really dumb and poorly written, but i found it in my writing folder and decided wtheck, i'm gonna post it anyway. 
> 
> in this ian and mickey go to school together and are in the same grade but mickey is still older, just held back. no canon stuff happened here except for the "kiss me and i'll cut your fucking tongue out" line.

Mickey paces back and forth in front of Gallagher's house. It's not the subtlest thing he's ever done - in fact it's downright suspicious - but that doesn't register because his internal debate of _to go knock on the door or to not go knock on the door_ is taking up ninety-nine percent of his brain power. 

He is way over thinking this. How hard is it to fucking ask a guy out?

Incredibly hard, apparently, because it's been ten minutes and he still hasn't gotten any closer to the door. Hasn't even made it up the first step on the goddamn _porch._

Mickey clamps his mouth around a cigarette and fumbles with his lighter, hands clammy with nervous sweat, thumb slipping off the wheel and shooting sparks. He gets the flame going on the fourth try and eagerly sucks in the first drag of smoke like a man dying of thirst would savour his first sip of water. Mickey closes his eyes, exhales, and then immediately goes for another lungful. It calms him down for about a second, and then he resumes pacing.

It's not like Gallagher's gonna say no to him. Right? He'll be thrilled that Mickey finally wants to hang out in public, where everyone can see them. Instead of ignoring each other in the halls, necking in the empty chem class during lunch, stealing glances in the locker room, dry humping in the janitor's closet, fucking behind the bleachers, eyefucking in _front_ of the bleachers, or blowing each other in the bathroom stall. No, Mickey's gonna ask him out properly. On a _date._ Where they actually have to socialize before they jump bones. Make conversation. Get to know each other. Be... nice.

"For fuck’s sake," Mickey mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. He's screwed. How's he gonna do all that stuff? He's never been nice to Gallagher before.

Gallagher won't laugh in Mickey's face when he sees the crappy theatre Mickey takes him to, the one that plays the old black and white movies, though. He'll be charmed. He'll think it's fucking romantic. Right?

Mickey puffs on his cigarette with wide eyes.

Gallagher won't make fun of him for the dinner reservations he made at the Italian place that has a two for one special on Thursdays. He'll be impressed. Right? 

...Wrong, but he'll be distracted enough by the unlimited bread basket and won't realize Mickey actually has a terrible personality and wonder why he agreed to come.

Mickey looks down at himself – black button down shirt, clean jeans, new kicks, _cologne_ – and swallows back a strangled noise of disbelief. No. He looks ridiculous. He should just go home. This was a dumb fucking idea. 

As if the universe is agreeing with him, a loud rumbling of thunder suddenly booms from above.

Mickey stops pacing. Looks up as a drop of rain lands on his nose. The sky rumbles ominously again. It's been murky and humid all day, on the cusp of a storm, and Mickey had ignored it without a thought until now.

The rain pours down in a wave. It gets him before he has the chance to take cover, before he even thinks to. His flicks his cigarette to the ground, useless now. Maybe this is his punishment. For thinking _he_ , Mickey Milkovich, could ask someone like Ian Gallagher out and it would go smoothly. He laughs as his carefully styled hair goes limp, curling on his forehead and falling into his eyes. He's such a _douche_.

He doesn't know how long he stands there, shoulders hunched, listening to the rain hitting the pavement and blinking away the rainwater that builds up on his lashes, but eventually he decides enough is enough. With one last glance at the door, Mickey starts to walk home.

He doesn't hear the screen door creaking open and slamming shut. He doesn't hear the pounding of footsteps behind him. He doesn't hear someone calling his name. He doesn't realize he's not the only one on the street until someone's grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around. His first instinct is to punch the motherfucker in the gut, because he is _not_ in the mood to give anyone directions or spare any change, but it's not a lost idiot or a drunken bum, it's Gallagher. And he's looking down at Mickey in bewildered concern, eyes wide and so, so _green_ against the backdrop of dark clouds. It makes Mickey's breath catch in his chest, makes his heartbeat jump, erratic and wild. 

"Milkovich? What are you doing here?" Gallagher asks. He's wearing a grey shirt that's clinging to his chest and arms, and a pair of black jogging shorts that are riding indecently low on his cut hips. When Mickey doesn't answer immediately he continues, unsure, "I saw you through the window..."

Ah, shit. If Mickey wasn't so cold, his face would be on fire.

"I, uh." Mickey stops. Stares at him, swallowing. "I wanted— wanted to— " Nope, apparently words aren't working today.

Gallagher steps closer and frowns. "Jesus, Mickey, you're freezing." His hand squeezes Mickey's shoulder and the other one wraps around Mickey's bicep. The points of contact seep warmth into him, a startling contrast to the rain on the rest of his body, which seems to be leeching it. He shivers under Gallagher's touch, doesn't know why he can't speak, and as the seconds tick by Gallagher starts to look even more worried.

Mickey. Not Milkovich. Gallagher just called him _Mickey._

Mickey knows he should say something to brush this whole thing off, make up an excuse and hightail it out of here, but he can't. He can't move. His gaze drops to Gallagher's lips, parted and wet, freckles standing out like little flecks of burnt copper. Back up to his eyes again. Stupid, beautiful Gallagher. Something is building up inside Mickey. Something he just has to— he needs to remove the distance between them—needs to... 

"Mickey," Gallagher repeats. His moves the hand on Mickey's shoulder to cup Mickey's cheek. Thumb brushing away the water under Mickey's eye with that warm, warm touch. "Are you okay?"

Fuck it. Mickey rocks up on his toes and reaches up to grip Gallagher's neck and pull him down into a rough kiss. Gallagher gasps. The sound is magnified tenfold in Mickey's ears. The storm is drowned out, his fingers clenched in Gallagher's hair, his heart thundering. It only takes a second before Gallagher surges against him, kissing him back with an intensity that weakens his knees. Gallagher let's out a low, soft groan that Mickey feels like a live wire. Mickey keeps kissing him until he extracts two more sounds like that, swiping his tongue along the seam of Gallagher's mouth and delving in to taste him. There's a minty flavour to him, with vanilla behind it, like maybe he was drinking one of his weird protein shakes earlier on and just brushed his teeth. It's a weird combo but Mickey doesn't mind it. Mickey figures _he_ probably tastes like an ashtray, but Gallagher doesn't seem to mind him either.

"Yeah, Ian," Mickey answers, when they part. He licks his lips, grins. "I'm fucking great, how're you."

Gallagher laughs. It's shock-y and he looks like he wants to pinch himself. "Fucking great," he echoes. He's smiling so big it takes up half his face, and seeing it makes something in Mickey's belly go crazy. Almost like nausea, but sweet. Exhilaration, he realizes. He feels _giddy_.

They stare at each other a little longer. Grinning like fools.

"Let's go inside," Gallagher suggests, eventually. His grin fades into something smaller, more intimate. He let's go of Mickey and tilts his chin back towards the house. "Dry off." His eyebrows raise slowly, suggestively. "Warm up?"

He doesn't push for anything else, doesn't lean in for another kiss or try to hold Mickey's hand. Gallagher looks happy, standing there in front of Mickey, dripping wet and cold, shirt clinging to his front and soaked all the way through. All it took was a kiss on an empty street, in the middle of a thunderstorm.

It's almost too much to handle. Mickey takes a deep breath. There's a multitude of things he could say, each one bolder than the last, but he's already flying way out of his comfort zone. "Race ya," he says instead, and takes off past Gallagher. "Loser bottoms!" he tosses over his shoulder, and Gallagher chases after him with an incredulous wheeze of laughter.

"I guess that means you're going to let me win, Milkovich!"

Mickey scrambles up the stairs. "Like fuck I am, Gallagher!"

Gallagher comes up behind him and nearly bowls him over, hip checking him away from the door. He forces his way inside and Mickey elbows him in the ribs, laughing when Gallagher slips on the hardwood and falls on his ass.

**Author's Note:**

> so my headcanon for this is ian is the popular school track star and mickey is the stoner loner who smokes on the bleachers and watches ian run every day and calls him funny names to make him trip over himself during races and laughs like an asshole when he does and this courting ritual ends up being successful and leads to them fucking like angry rabbits all over the school in secret. i... i don't even know, okay. my brain wants random things.
> 
> i'm debating whether or not i should write a part two with the sexy times and the date. since it didn't happen. and ended kind of abruptly.


End file.
